


The Proposal

by Endangered_Slug



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2014 [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Showdown 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Round 7 entry for the Rumbelle Showdown 2014</p><p>A direct followup to The Codicil. Or, the one where I start to freak out because I didn't expect to make it this far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> My prompts were Learn something new, You deserved better, Monster and hero.

 

The bell over the pawn shop door jingled merrily as Belle slipped inside. “Mr. Gold? You called?”

 

“Miss French! Come to the back room,” his voice carried over from the back room.

 

Belle stepped between the curtains feeling a sense of excitement. She had never been to the back of Mr. Gold's shop before and it felt as if she'd stepped into Aladdin's cave of wonders. It was a bit of a jumble, really – a lot of stuff in barely controlled chaos and in various stages of readiness for the shop, but Belle could tell that there was a sense of organization to it once you looked. You just had to look.

 

Mr. Gold was standing by a table, hovering over a single-plate burner where a kettle was about to start whistling. He'd discarded his suit jacket on the back of a chair and she was taken aback at how handsome he looked casually standing in his back room waiting for her with this domestic little scene. He was wearing gold sleeve garters, she noticed, which stood out brightly against his dark patterned shirt and deep red tie. Belle had never seen him without his jacket before and she blushed as if she'd caught him in nothing but a towel. She looked away and noticed the tea things already set out in preparation as well as a plate of digestives and a small bowl of chocolates.

 

He took the kettle off and let it sit on a hot pad for a moment before pouring the hot water into the waiting teapot. “Help yourself to the biscuits,” he said as he settled the kettle back on the burner.

 

Belle eagerly grabbed one and took a large, satisfying bite. “Where did you even find these?” she asked with her hand over her mouth, trying not to blow crumbs everywhere. She finished the cookie in three bites, shamefully stuffing the last bit into her mouth.

 

“Anything can be bought over the internet,” he replied with a coy smirk. He sat down slowly, letting his leg stretch out with a grimace. He poured the tea, wordlessly fixing her cup and handing it to her.

 

Belle felt strange sitting in the back room of Mr. Gold's shop – as if she was doing something illicit, which was ridiculous since she was there at his invitation. Looking around at the odds and ends of his workshop she wondered exactly what it was he did. It seemed to be a little bit of everything; there was a work bench currently piled with the innards of a clock and there was half-finished woodwork on one end with a pot of varnish next to it. Tapestries were rolled up in one corner and everywhere she looked there were picture frames and trinkets placed willy-nilly. A box overflowing with costume jewelery was closest to her and she noticed a beautiful broach that was the same color as the stone in the ring Mr. Gold wore. An old-fashioned typewriter was sitting on the desk, but so was a shiny laptop which was open and next to it was a yellow legal pad filled with slanted, tidy handwriting.

 

Mr. Gold watched her as she took in his stockroom, a soft look on his face before he remembered himself and sipped his tea concentrating on the flavor of the liquid and not the clear blue of her eyes. He was conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to see her happy. On the other hand, he didn't want her to leave Storybrooke where he had gotten so used to seeing her nearly every day. The half hour of conversation in the library was the pinnacle of his day, pathetic as that sounded. Belle was pretty much the only person other than his son who meant anything to him. She was young, intelligent, charming, and perfect.That she was beautiful was just a bonus; he would have fallen in love with her if she had the complexion of a warthog. He didn't want her to go, but he didn't want to see her stifled in this backwater town, either. Maybe she would keep in touch if he asked. It's not like they could be anything more than friends anyway.

 

They sat in silence before Belle took a deep breath and broached the subject first.

 

“I feel gross even being tempted."

 

He started, “I'm sorry? Tempted?”

 

“The will. I should be above that, right? We should all be better than that. But the more I think about it the more I want the money.”

 

“Oh.” He drained the cup with a gulp. "Miss French, there's nothing wrong with wanting a good life for yourself. It just so happens having money helps that along considerably. No one who knows you would think less of you for doing this.”

 

She smiled at him gratefully. “That's still leaves the problem of who. Any ideas?”

 

He took a deep breath and went for it. “You've, um, you've been in town for nearly two years. Have you dated anyone in that time? Someone you could trust?” He looked down at his cup, rolling it between his hands gently as he waited for her to speak. Surely there was someone.

 

She wrinkled her nose a bit. “I went out with Gary a few times, but there's literally not enough money in the world to get me to marry him. Even platonically and I don't think he understands the meaning of that."

 

He chuckled silently, relief evident on his face. “You mentioned that you were friends with Ariel? The will didn't specify gender,” he teased. “It's legal here in Maine.”

 

Belle laughed. “She'd actually do it, too. But no, her own wedding is actually in two months. Marrying me would make things really complicated for her.” She took a sip of tea and then very nonchalantly said, “The only other person I trust is you.”

 

He smiled crookedly, his eyes heavy and dark. “That would definitely set their ears on fire, wouldn't it? Showing up married to a man your father's age?”

 

“No more than showing up married to Ariel,” she pointed out.

 

He conceded the point with a nod, slowly set down his cup on the table, positioning the handle just right before continuing. “Unfortunately, I'm legally tied.”

 

“Because you're acting as my lawyer?” She smiled at him over her teacup before taking a sip, ready for a nice round of mild flirting. “I can always fire you.”

 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because I'm already married.”

 

The teacup fell to the floor with a crash. “You— _what_? _Married_? To _whom_?” Belle felt her heart drop to her toes and melt out onto the floor.

 

“ _Legally_ married. I haven't seen my wife in over fifteen years and we've been separated for at least twenty.”

 

Shock kept her from moving for a moment, trying to process what Mr. Gold had just told her. “But, how does no one know about it? I've never heard you were _married_ ,” she hissed at him, unaccountably hurt.

 

He spread his hands out before him. “Everyone knows, but it's been so long that most people have forgotten about it.”

 

“And you haven't seen her in fifteen years? Why haven't you divorced?”

 

He gave a dry, bitter chuckle, shaking his head ruefully. “Ah, well. Milah is... much like your grandmum. She likes the control she has over someone else's life. She would pop in and stir things up with Neal and the courts, leaving a huge mess for me to clean up. She'd play mommy of the year for a week or so then disappear leaving Neal devastated."

 

“She sounds terrible.”

 

He nodded his head, lost in his own unhappy memories. “I sought a divorce when she left; it turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. She dragged the whole thing out for years, bringing Neal into it, involving CPS, making my life even more miserable than it was when we were together. I threw in the towel and she left us alone for the most part and, truthfully, I forget she even exists until I'm reminded. Our son stayed with me while she went off and sought her happiness.”

 

“But what about you?” Belle asked indignantly. “What about your happiness? You deserve more than... than this." she gestured towards the door. " _Why_?"

 

He gave her a crooked smile, the gold tooth glinting in the dim light. "Well, that's..." He paused and thought better of answering. "I'm doing fine,” he said with finality. “ _Your_ happiness, however, is what's at stake here, so perhaps we should get on with it?” He gestured toward the legal pad.

 

She blushed. “Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

 

“Don't be sorry,” he said. “Like I said, it's old news.”

 

Belle felt sick. “But what if you meet someone?” she asked, quietly.

 

He looked at the paperwork in front of him unable to meet her eyes. “Meeting someone is not the issue."

 

“What is?”

 

He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, for starters the feeling has to be mutual. I'm a difficult man to love; maybe impossible?” he asked, his forehead creased in thought. “I'm the town monster." He gave an exaggerated flourish with his hand. “No one loves monsters.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, frowning. "You're no monster, Mr.Gold. What you're saying is you don't believe anyone can love you."

 

"Experience has taught me that there's some truth to that." He pulled the legal pad over and flipped a few pages. “I do have some good news for you regarding the will: There's no time limit for your nuptials. You'll be able to meet someone as normal and then when the time comes..." he trailed off as if there was no point in continuing. When the time came he'd help her draw up the legal documents to protect her investments and maybe walk her down the aisle if she needed someone to do that. The pain he felt in his chest was sudden and sharp and he worried for a moment that he was having a heart attack.

 

They were silent for a few minutes as they both contemplated their futures.

 

"Of course,” he continued. “If you think you'd rather have the money sooner I can make some discreet inquiries. There should be several agreeable young men who may be able to assist you. And you never know, perhaps he may be the... I believe they call it The One." His smile felt more like a grimace.

 

Tears burned her eyes, but she steadfastly kept them from falling and making a fool of herself. The idea of a mail-order groom repulsed her but it was no worse than trying to coerce Mr. Gold into marrying her was it? In either case it wasn't happening. "I'm not sure I will be getting married after all, Mr. Gold. It doesn't seem to be worth it."

 

The pain loosened a bit. "Well, that's up to you of course. In the meantime, think of it as a wedding present being held in trust and gaining interest.”

 

Belle nodded her head at him still unsure of what to say when she remembered the teacup she dropped. She picked it up with numb fingers. "Oh no." She held it up for his inspection. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gold, but it's chipped."

 

He looked at it for a minute before meeting her worried gaze. He smiled in reassurance. "It's just a cup."

 

She carefully ran her fingers over the rim. "I, um... Thanks. For your time and doing the research for me."

 

She handed the cup to him, which he gently took from her, his own fingers searching out the chip as if to reassure himself of its imperfection.

 

"It was my pleasure,” he said. “I'm only sorry we couldn't come up with a happier solution than sit and wait."

 

She picked her purse off the floor and set it in her lap. "And how much do I owe you?" she asked searching for her checkbook.

 

He blanched, looking as if she slapped him. "Pardon me?"

 

"For the legal fees?" she clarified, glancing up at him.

 

"You don't owe me a thing, Miss French. I think of you as a friend. I hope you always know that."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Gold." She stood up, scraping the chair legs on the wooden floor. He started to rise, too, but she held up her hand in protest. "No, don't bother to get up. I should get back to work. There's a new shipment coming in. Lots to process." She gave him a watery smile.

 

He sat back down heavily. "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

"Yep." She turned and with her back towards him she said quietly, "I think of you as a friend as well, Mr. Gold. I'm glad you could tell me the truth about your marriage."

 

She whisked herself through the curtain before he could react and a few seconds later he heard the jingle of the bell over the door as she left. His gut was clenched and throat felt tight with unshed tears. He had a feeling that Belle would never again be as free and open with him now that he revealed his history to her. She'd seemed troubled by it and his heart ached as if he'd betrayed her somehow, but how could he have done so when he was always, always her friend. Even if he was available to help her out he would still be just her friend, husband in name only.

 

He looked down at the cup in his hand, turning it over and over, gently running his fingers over the surface. Here is where her dainty fingers gripped the handle. Here is where she put her lips to the rim and sipped. Here is where she chipped the cup, etching herself permanently into its structure. He stopped fidgeting with it and cradled it within his hands before he dropped it himself and shattered it.

 

He sat there for many minutes gathering up his courage. To do the brave thing. He thought of Belle, so young and beautiful, defying her family and setting off on her own in a new country, a new life. He wanted to bring her joy, not just by showing her the path and helping her along, but by _being_ the path to freedom. But to do that, he had to face his past and bring himself out of a stagnation twenty years in the making.

 

He set the cup down on the table with a clatter, fished the phone out of his pocket and scrolled down his contacts until he reached his lawyer. Gold rarely needed to use her services, being a lawyer himself, but only fools handled their own court cases and he was no fool. He left a message with her secretary and within half an hour he started the process for his divorce. This time there would be no turning back.

 

A week later, spent in observation of the redness of Belle's usually clear blue, sparkling eyes and her hesitant smiles, he was finally able to call her with some concrete news. The moment he dialed her number he started sweating nervously. He was sure he was mad to jump from one loveless marriage straight into another, but surely it was different. Belle was nothing like Milah and at least neither of them held any illusions that this would be for anything other than convenience. The twist in his gut squeezed tighter and he nearly hung up when Belle answered.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Miss. French, I believe I've come up with a solution."

 

He heard her sniffle a bit before she responded and he wondered if she had come down with a cold. That would explain the way she seemed off all week long.

 

"Thats great, Mr.Gold. What're you thinking?"

 

"It occurred to me that Neal is twenty-four now–"

 

"You are _not_ setting me up with your son Mr. Gold," she said with some asperity.

 

"God no! That's– No." He shut his eyes with the painful realization that his son was actually a better choice than himself, but Neal would never go for it and, well, he'd already started the divorce proceedings. "I'm setting you up with..."

 

" _With_?" she asked unsure where he was going with this.

 

"Me," he whispered, hoarsely, a jolt of adrenalin coursing through him. He felt raw with nerves and ready to fight anyone who dared to cross him. Anyone except for Belle, who alone had the ability to bring him willingly to his knees. He clenched his hand and prayed he wouldn't disappoint her.

 

" _Who_?"

 

"Myself."

 

"But your–"

 

"I've already started the legalities. There's isn't anything she can do to me now that Neal is grown and on his own."

 

She was silent for so long Gold thought the connection had dropped.

 

"You would do that for me?" she asked, her voice sounding as if her throat was stuffed with cotton.

 

"You were right, Miss French. There's no reason for me to stay married when there is no marriage. I was a coward before, you helped me see that and I appreciate it."

 

"And you're okay with marrying me?" she asked.

 

"It's only on paper and it'll help you realize your dreams. And don't worry," he added, hastily. “I would never demand that you act as a wife. I won't impose on you or anything like that."

 

"I see," she said, quietly. "Well then, I guess we have a deal, Mr. Gold."

 

He flinched. "Not a deal. Just a favor between friends."

 

"You're more than a friend," she said. "You're my hero."

 

"That might be going too far, Miss French," he said with some wryness.

 

"You can call me by my first name now that we're engaged, Mr. Gold."

 

"Very well. And you may call me by mine, of course."

 

"Which is?" she prompted.

 

"Adam."

 

"My _Adam,_ ” she said, warmly.“I'll be over in ten minutes. Don't go anywhere."

 

“I'll be right here, Belle.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering where I got the name, Figrin D'an is the lead singer to the Cantina band in Star Wars. 
> 
> I wanted to thank Riskpig, again, for putting on the Showdown. I can't imagine the amount of hard work she put into it (and the TEAs simultaneously? Yeah, that's dedication). She's like the patron saint of Rumbelle.
> 
> Also, I may have had a slight hysterical reaction when I learned the identities of several authors I was paired with. (hint: I did) Several of my very favorite writers! I am very, very glad we were working under pseudonyms - I would have just choked. I hadn't really planned on revealing my identity from the beginning, but Belle would tell me to do the brave thing, and I did promise a follow up to The Proposal... which I can't seem to get started without prompts - go figure. If anyone wanted to throw some three word prompts my way go for it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who voted for me! Joining the Showdown and writing to prompts were both things that stretched me in ways that were uncomfortable at times, but I'm very glad I did it. Your encouragement meant a lot to me and I love every one of you!


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